The Strange Story of a Strange Boy
by mugglekool
Summary: Tom Riddle's life, month by month.
1. Year One: January

Okay. Since this is going to go month by month, some chapters are going to be super-short and some are going to be super-long. (the first few are going to be in the super-short category.) That's all.

* * *

**Year One: January**

* * *

He could hear the other babies crying. He couldn't understand _why_ they were crying though. They were all fed and their diapers were changed. They had comfortable beds with cozy blankets. Granted, the blankets were torn in places, but surely that didn't necessitate inhuman wailing. Perhaps they just wanted attention. How ridiculously naïve.

All these thoughts passed through Tom Riddle's head in a split second. He couldn't fathom the thoughts into words, for he was yet to learn a language. He wasn't even a month old yet, so you can hardly blame him.

The days passed. All he had to do was wake up in the morning and gulp down whatever they fed him. It tasted horrible. He ate it though, since he was incapable of even sitting up, let alone finding his own food.

Every so often, he would have a face looking down at him. The faces would smile and wiggle their eyebrows and some of them would even try to touch him; one lady in particular was fond of pinching his cheeks. He hated her.


	2. Year One: February

**Year One: February**

* * *

He was now a month old, though he didn't know it. Nothing really seemed to change. It was the same routine. Wake up, eat, excrete, have someone change your diaper, sleep, wake up, eat some more. The cycle was endless. Tom was bored. He knew, however, that someday he would be able to walk around and make sounds like the big people. A whoosh of air, almost like a sigh, escaped his tiny lips.

A few days later, he felt himself being lifted up into the air. At last. Something new. His head was being held up by a gentle hand, and he found himself looking into the eyes of the despicable lady who kept pinching his cheeks. She kissed him on the forehead. This was a nightmare.

When he was taken outside though, he forgot all about the lady who was holding him. Everything looked so bright and beautiful. There was green grass and a blue sky overhead that seemed to stretch on forever. Tom loved it, and he swore that he would spend more time in this wondrous place once he could move around by himself like the big people could.

All too soon, he was taken inside and put down in his cradle. He almost cried at that, but thought better of himself. He would _not_ sink to the level of the other babies. The woman seemed to gather that he liked being outside, though, and began taking him there everyday. Tom conceded to himself that perhaps she wasn't as awful as she'd seemed at first. He could live with the pinching and kissing if it meant he could visit _that place_ more often.

One day, he opened his eyes and was bombarded by a vision of pink. That was the only way he could describe it, even though it was only an impression. That day, The Lady, as he'd come to think of her, left him in his cradle. She didn't pick him up and take him to the beautiful place. Tom was beyond disappointed. That was the first time he realized that nothing good ever lasts.


	3. Year One: March

**Year One: March**

* * *

The daily outings had begun again. While this cheered him up a good deal, Tom couldn't help but feel slightly betrayed about the one day that he had to remain inside. While it might have been silly of him, he didn't think of it as such. To him, he was the most important thing in the world. In his head, he was clearly superior to the people he was surrounded by, and he believed that they should cater to his whims and fancies.

He was different. He was _special_. Unfortunately, even at that age, he had an inkling of that.


	4. Year One: April

**Year One: April**

* * *

His mouth felt funny. Where earlier, there had been nothing but softness, now there were little bumps. It was very uncomfortable. The ladies seemed to be very excited though. They kept _looking_ at him; smiling and cooing. It was terrible. One of them even tried to put a finger in his mouth. His little body shuddered.

One day, they gave him what seemed to be a rubber key. His could grasp things by now, so he held it in his hand, but _what on earth was he supposed to do with it? _He'd seen similar devices being used by the caretakers, but they were much smaller.

He brought the key up to his face and inspected it. This seemed to excite the ladies gathered around him even more. He let out something of a growl – at least that was what he intended to do – but it came out as an unpleasant high-pitched sort of sound. Tom didn't like it one bit. He mustered all the strength he had and threw the object in his hand at the person nearest to him. It hit the nose of the lady who had her face shoved against the cradle bars (this wasn't the lady who took him to the nice place, he noticed), and bounced back. The lady looked miffed. Tom giggled. There was at least _one_ use for this object.


	5. Year One: May

**Year One: May**

* * *

If Tom thought that throwing things at people was going to get them to go away, he was utterly disappointed. They just kept coming back. As far as he could see, the other babies weren't given half as much attention as he was. He resented them.

He was so _bored_. He was sick of the white plastered ceiling that slowly seemed to be changing colour. _Time for a change of view_ he thought. With an intense effort, he managed to roll over. He was delighted. According to what he'd seen, he was one of the first babies who had managed to do so. He made to roll back but – oh no. He was stuck. How humiliating. One of the ladies had to pick him up and turn him over. Even though nobody seemed to be making fun of him, his little cheeks turned bright red. He'd have to practise.


	6. Year One: June

**Year One: June**

* * *

The little bumps in his mouth had taken on a more distinctive shape. They fed him different food now. One of the new foods was a bright red thing that he had to bite into, but he could only manage a few mouthfuls before he was stuffed. It tasted quite nice though. Much better than the mush that he was fed before.

Tom got bored a lot. He'd managed to master the rolling back trick in less than a month. He really wanted to be able to move around like the big people, but he didn't think his legs were ready yet. _He could sit up though_. He spent the whole day trying – falling over too many times for his liking – and by the end of the day, he was seated in his cradle, his tiny fingers curled around the bars. The view was spectacular. He was so proud of himself.

In the middle of the day, some of the caretakers had realized what it was he was trying to do, and encouraged him. At first, he was supremely annoyed, but he soon came to the realization that they would point and stare and pinch and pull no matter what he did or said. So, he set about ignoring them till he mastered the art of sitting up.

Now, looking through the bars, he let his gaze wander over the room. There were babies just like him, but most of them were asleep. That made sense. He could clearly see the stars through the chink in the curtains. A woman knelt down in front of him, curling her fingers around the same bars that he was grasping, her hands enveloping his little ones. He looked into her eyes now, realizing that she was the woman who took him to the Nice Place everyday. Everyone else had left. She had stayed. He felt something welling up inside of him. He felt nice. Against his better judgment, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the woman's hand. Her eyes lit up. She had never looked so happy. She patted him on the head and tucked him in. She stayed beside him for a while, running her fingers through his soft hair. Even though he didn't realize it, Tom fell asleep much faster that day than he usually did.


	7. Year One: July

**Year One: July**

* * *

Now that Tom could sit up, he decided that it was time to learn how to move around. That would definitely come in handy. Sitting in his cradle, he would grab onto the bars and push downwards with his legs as hard as possible. Sometime in the middle of June, he managed to get his legs to support him for a few seconds before he plonked back down on his little bottom. Ow. His cradle was small enough for him to be able to reach his pillow and blanket while sitting in one place, and so he gathered them into a heap. The next time his legs gave way, it didn't hurt quite so much.

It took another three days before Tom could stand without any support. His legs didn't give way anymore; he could fold them beneath him and sit down. This was especially useful in ensuring the safety of his bottom.

The night after Tom's first attempt at standing, found the Nice Lady seated next to his cradle, a rectangular shape in her hand. She opened it and began reading from it, her mouth contorting itself into different shapes as various sounds emerged from it. Tom was entranced. He wanted to do what she did, and soon began trying to imitate the sounds that she was making. It didn't sound anything like it was supposed to, but it was a start.

(**A/N**: It is ironic that Tom began to think of her as the 'Nice Lady' when she was once somebody he despised. But he's a baby. He's very impressionable. *shrug*)


	8. Year One: August

**Year One: August**

* * *

Tom Riddle didn't learn how to crawl. He didn't see how it would be of any use to him. He had seen some of the other babies crawling around the floor of the nursery. He sniffed as disdainfully as a baby could. He wanted to _walk_. It really couldn't be all that hard. Everyone but the babies seemed to be able to do it. Pushing himself to his tiny feet, he attempted to take a step forwards. He lifted one leg, bent at the knee, and attempted to move it in front of the over, but was unable to keep his balance. His bottom hit the cradle painfully. This was going to be like learning how to stand all over again. He kept at it though; not learning how to walk was most certainly not an option. As with all his previous endeavors, Tom's perseverance paid off. When one of the caretakers saw him wobbling back and forth across his cradle, she picked him up and placed him on the floor.

Suddenly, everything looked different. He was much, much smaller than he had realized, and it scared him. The big people weren't just _big_, they were _humongous_. Giants who towered over him and could break his little body in two by stepping on him, if they so wished. Tom Riddle was terrified. That was the first time he cried.


	9. Year One: September

**Year One: September**

* * *

In addition to taking him out to the garden everyday – where he ran around the garden a couple of times, exercising his newfound skill – the Nice Lady would sit by his cradle and read stories to him. The first time she had done that, Tom had been mesmerized. Now though, he found himself to be inexplicably bored. He could, to some extent, understand what the stories were about – princes rescuing princesses and dragons and castles. He knew what the different characters looked like because of the pictures that were drawn in the books. None of it seemed to pertain to real life and, as a consequence of this, he didn't find it interesting.

Tom puckered his lips and made a 'pop' sound. The Nice Lady looked up, startled. Tom did it again. The Nice Lady shut the book. _Finally._

"This isn't really your type of story, is it dear?" she asked softly.

Tom…_understood._ He'd been trying to form words in the rare moments that he'd found himself alone. This seemed to be the perfect opportunity to put it to use.

"No," he replied, just as softly as she. For a moment, both Tom and the Nice Lady were startled. Then the Nice Lady broke into a smile, and Tom couldn't help a tiny smirk that made the ends of his lips curl up. Another skill mastered. Well, not quite _mastered_ yet, but he would get there soon enough.

"That was your first word," the Nice Lady said, her eyes shimmering with tears that slowly began to spill over onto her cheeks.

Why was the Nice Lady crying? Surely this wasn't a bad thing? "Don't cry," Tom tried to say. Unfortunately, his 'r' sounded like a 'w'. Uh oh. The caretaker seemed to understand him nonetheless.

"Oh you wonderful boy. I'm crying because I'm happy," she sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

People cried when they were _happy_? What kind of world was this?

"Oh," Tom replied.

"Shall we go into the garden for a bit?"

Tom couldn't help the fervor that his eyes lit up with. He had been to the garden numerous times, but never when the sky was inky like it was now. He nodded eagerly. Standing in his cradle, he was pondering how to get down, when two hands wrapped around his small body and he was lifted up into cradling arms.

"I can walk," he declared, his little lips pouting.

"I know darling. I just enjoy carrying you."

When they were seated on a stone bench in the garden, the Nice Lady turned to him. "When children say their first words, they aren't usually able to keep up a conversation."

Tom looked down at his feet, his legs swinging back and forth. "I'm diffewent," he replied quietly.

The Nice Lady appraised him for a moment before replying. "Yes. You're special."

Tom looked up at that, and couldn't help a genuine smile gracing his features.


	10. Year One: October

**Year One: October**

* * *

He could walk. He could talk. He couldn't say his r's properly yet, but he knew he would overcome that. He was happy.

He'd asked for a bed; something that he could easily get in and out of. They were reluctant at first, but Tom soon realized that big eyes and a pouty mouth could get him almost anything he wanted. It was night-time, and he was lying down on a bed in a room on the ground floor of the orphanage. With the bed, they'd given him _his own room_. _None _ of the other babies had their own rooms. They probably didn't even know what a room was. Tom smirked to himself.

He was smart. Far smarter than any of the other children in the orphanage, probably even the grown up ones. For the past month, ever since he'd said his first word, he had been learning the names of different things.

Running his tongue over the little white bumps in his mouth, he remembered what he had been taught that day. _Teeth_,they were called. The name seemed apt, somehow. _Bed _and _cradle_ and _room_ he'd learnt ages ago. The thing around him was a _diaper_. The Nice Lady said that soon he wouldn't have to wear it anymore. She said that soon, he would be able to go to the _toy-_ something. He sighed. He couldn't remember what it was called. He couldn't wait till he didn't need diapers anymore, though. He _hated _being dependant on anyone.

One evening in October, Tom saw that the older children were wearing funny looking clothes and going out with baskets in their hands. He would _never_ understand human beings. Why would anyone want to go out looking like _that_?

He heard footsteps approaching and looked up. The Nice Lady was approaching him, a small smile on her face. "They're going Trick-Or-Treating," she said. "Every year, on the 31st of October, children dress up as different things and go out to candy from the neighbourhood."

Tom blinked. "Silly," he said.

The Nice Lady just laughed and planted a kiss on top of his black curls. Tom found that he didn't mind this as much as he used to.


	11. Year One: November

**Year One: November**

* * *

"Why are birthdays special?" Tom asked the Nice Lady one day, while they sat in the garden and watched the other children play.

"Well," she replied, "they mark the day that you were brought into this world. Birthdays are a milestone of sorts.

Tom's little face was scrunched up in thought. "But they have no purpose."

The Nice Lady glanced at him and sighed. "I suppose not. Perhaps they're just an excuse to eat cake and have fun."

Tom giggled a bit at that.

They sat in silence for a little while longer. The Nice Lady had one of those rectangular things open on her lap. Tom toddled over and seated himself beside her. "What is that called?" he asked, pointing to the rectangular thing.

The Nice Lady smiled fondly at him. "_This_," she replied, closing the rectangular thing and letting her finger travel over the edge caressingly, "is called a book."

"Book."

"Yes."

"And the book has sto-sto –"

"Stories," the Nice Lady said, smiling slightly.

Tom nodded. "I want to read," he said finally.

The Nice Lady looked at him in some surprise. "You aren't even a year old, sweetheart. Most children don't begin to read until they're at _least_ three of four."

Tom just looked at her, sticking his lower lip out, and using a word that he'd heard some of the older children use when they wanted something. "Please?"

The Nice Lady rolled her eyes and said, "_Alright_, I'll begin teaching you tomorrow. But it's not going to be easy, remember that."

Tom was satisfied. He had seen so many people doing the reading thing that he didn't believe that it could be _all_ that difficult. His tiny face broke out into a grin as he leaned against the tree that they were sitting under and thought about all the wonderful things he could experience when he finally learnt how to read.


End file.
